If you so much as stood on an airplane 50 years ago, you’d probably made it in some way. You could afford the luxury of air travel and that meant something. You had status. But for most, travel was a fantasy – something that people did in books or the National Geographic.

After a few weeks in a country, the food starts to seem a little less tasty, the land a little less mysterious. We would be comfortable sitting by a pool all day reading a book, letting the rest of our time slip away into idleness. But our comfort is tinged with guilt.

To travel long-term you must leave your friends behind. You must face the knowledge that life goes on without you. That time doesn’t stop with your absence, that you aren’t the centre of the universe after all. Continue reading Travel and Friendships→

Seven or so years ago, I was at university and severely depressed. I could barely peel myself out of bed in the morning, I didn’t have the energy for anything. Going to the kitchen to make breakfast was like climbing a mountain, so most days I didn’t bother. It was easier to starve. Eventually, the hunger would become too painful and only then would I stumble to make a sandwich. I was completely unmotivated.

Around four years ago today, I was sitting in an office, staring out the window, dreaming of travel. I’d finished university a few years earlier and instead of continuing to chase my passions, I had stayed put. I was trapped like a deer in the headlights of life. Paralysed and unable to do anything.